


Ancient Vendetta

by calamityqueen



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Crack, Cursed Idea, Death Watch (Star Wars), Dom/sub, F/M, Fluff, Handcuffs, I don't know if you should take this seriously or not, Jedi Reader (Star Wars), Mand'alor (Star Wars), Mandalorian Reader, Mildly Dubious Consent, Reader-Insert, Rough Sex, Royalty kink, Smut, Spanking, The Mandalorian Darksaber (Star Wars), fluff kinda?, i guess i dont know, mand'alor kink, pre vizsla is a warning in himself, sorta dubcon?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-23 20:28:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30061113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calamityqueen/pseuds/calamityqueen
Summary: Cursed fic, that's all I have to sayInspired by @galacticrepublicwarcrimes on tumblr ^-^
Relationships: Bo-Katan Kryze & Pre Viszla, Bo-Katan Kryze & Reader, Pre Vizsla/Reader
Kudos: 2





	Ancient Vendetta

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn't going to post this on here but I gave into the temptation to. I'm so sorry

Pre looks up from the holomap of Concord Dawn, planning the next moves for Death Watch, when Bo-Katan storms into the tent angrily. rips her helmet off and lets it fall to the ground, collapsing into a chair. 

“The witch won’t talk,” Bo-Katan spits harshly, clearly frustrated, “I tried everything, the damn jetti won’t even react to a slap to the face.” 

The night before, Death Watch sentries found a Jedi trying to sneak into the village behind their camp. She didn’t put up a fight when confronted, just put down her saber and kept her hands raised. Pre had only seen a glimpse of the Jetti, a woman dressed in dark robes and only armed with a green lightsaber. Even though the Jedi were the sworn enemies of the mandalorians, Pre could admit that she caught his eye. Painfully beautiful, and held an air about her that only a Mandalorian possessed. 

“I’m guessing it’s my turn to interrogate?” Pre asked tiredly. Trying to reclaim Mandalore from the pacifists with the Galactic Civil War raging in the background was much more difficult than it sounded. He just wanted to reclaim what was rightfully his; the throne of Mandalore. Mereel and Fett were no more; only Duchess Satine Kryze stood in his way to officially becoming Mand’alor, like his ancestors before him. 

“You could try, but I doubt you’ll get anywhere,” Bo-Katan rubbed her temples, “She’s in some sort of meditative trance or something, witch,” she grumbled. Pre huffed out a tried laugh, stretching his back. 

“Maybe she’ll listen to the darksaber at her throat,” he smirked, and Bo-Katan huffed as the former governor of Concordia stepped out of the tent, to the prisoner’s tent.

»»————- ★ ————-««

Well, Bo-Katan was right. She was meditating as Pre walked in to the tent, her eyes closed, face relaxed and serene. He had the intense urge to kiss her at that moment, but Pre let the feeling pass. She was the enemy; not one to wooed over to his side. Still, Pre couldn’t help himself.

“My, aren’t you a beautiful creature. Shame you’re a _jetti etyc_ , though, _dala_.”

Suddenly, the woman opened her eyes, and Pre was thankful for his helmet. Her eyes were stunning, reflective in the rising sun of the Concord System. She looked upon him curiously, her head tilted. “And you are?” her sweet honey voice questioned.

Pre puffed his chest out in a typical expression of masculine pride. “I am Pre Vizsla, leader of Clan Vizsla, and rightful ruler of Mandalore,” he took off his helmet, looking upon the jetti without the display of his visor. She was even more beautiful without the digitized picture of his visor. 

She raised her brow at learning who he was, then nodded with respect. The woman introduced herself, bowing her head, “I did not realize I was in the presence of a King, my apologies.” 

Pre narrowed his eyes, unsure if she was being sarcastic with her words, but let it slide nonetheless. “Your apology is accepted, Jedi,” he schooled his expression, tone morphing into a harsh stone. He kneeled on one leg to match her sitting position, taking her chin in his hand to force her to look at him. “Now tell me, mesh’la jett’ika, tell me what you were doing sneaking into Taylir village, hm?” 

The Jedi’s eyes widened, and Pre’s heart froze. She understood Mando’a? Why would some Jedi learn his people’s sacred language? Just for fun? It made him angry, that she would even dare. 

“The council received a distress call, and I was sent to investigate. We believed it to be a Separatist Attack,” she replied quickly, her eyes darting away from him for a brief moment. She’s lying, Pre caught on immediately. Most wouldn’t have caught the rapid eye movement, but a trained soldier and molded leader certainly did. 

“Don’t lie to me, girl,” Pre spit, his hold on her face becoming more aggressive, “Don’t make me hurt that pretty face of yours.” Her face looked so pretty squished between his gloved palms, and Pre could feel himself getting hard. Osik. 

“You wouldn’t believe me,” she grunted, and Pre relaxed the hold on her face. She rubbed her cheeks, shooting him a glare. 

“You’re lucky I haven’t killed you yet, jett’ika,” he growled, and she scoffed. 

“Holding on to ancient vendettas, Vizsla?” she smirked, seemingly amused at his anger. 

“A Mandalorian never forgets, Jedi,” Pre spat, “You harm one, you harm us all. And you earn our ire until your last breath.” His hands clenched into fists at his side, eyes glaring vibroblades at the beguiling Jedi in front of him. 

“Are you always this angry?” she laughed, “I wonder... how long you last, with such short fuses...” she gave him a playful wink, and Pre felt his face explode into heat. 

He was on her in an instant, hand at her throat, pinning her to the ground. “Do you really want to play that game, jetti’ika?” he tilted his head, frowning mockingly, “I would hate to break such a pure little thing like you.” 

“Vaabir gar dushne, Mand'alor,” her smirk was devilish, and Pre gave in to her seductive call. 

He growled, slamming his lips to hers in a fury. She tasted sweet, like a fruit on one of the many tropical planets and moons in the Mandalore sector. He shouldn’t want her; she was the enemy after all. But some primal part of his brain wanted to prove, to the Jedi, and to his people, he was superior. He was fit for the throne, the dark saber, the title of Mand’alor. The title that his father drilled into him was his birthright, as the dark saber itself was. 

She gasped at the forcefulness and primal need in his touch, and he took advantage of her vulnerability, conquering her mouth instantly. Pre Vizsla overwhelmed the Jedi’s defenses, mentally and physically, taking her and making her his. 

When she bit her lip to stifle a moan, he harshly bit at her neck, marking her for all to see, “I want to hear you, jett’ika, don’t silence yourself unless I tell you to, understand?” 

She mutely nodded, and he grabbed her face harshly, “Say “Yes, Mand’alor,” he hissed. 

“Yes, Mand’alor,” she whimpered, and he kissed the painful mark he branded her with, rewarding her good behavior. 

He knew his soldiers could hear them, especially the guards at the front of the tent, but Pre Vizsla did not see that fact as a negative. In fact, he wanted them all to hear him. To hear him dominating and making a Jedi his bitch.

Vizsla tore at her robes, revealing her divine beauty to him. Pre groaned, hastily pulling off his armor, his cock throbbing underneath his flight suit. She devoured him in her gaze, sparkling eyes looking upon him with lustful interest. It made his heart flutter, but he pushed the feelings aside. He was furious, he was proving who was superior once-and-for-all. He couldn’t possibly have feelings for this demon Jedi. 

It was impossible. 

He smirked, finding her already wet for him. “You like this, don’t you girl?” He hummed approvingly and slapped her thigh at her moaned “Yes, Mand’alor.” 

“Good girl,” he cooed mockingly, and she threw her head back, mewling quietly. He laughed breathily, far more than he intended, at her response to his praise. 

Vizsla took a moment to gaze at her, mostly nude, hands bound above her head, and staring at him pleadingly. A surge of pride welled up in his chest. She was becoming desperate for him. He won. 

He quickly flipped her on her front, forcing her ass into the air. He groaned, truly seeing just how wet she had become. 

“You’re gonna be a good girl for me, aren’t you jett’ika?” Vizsla grunted, grinding his shaft against her to coat himself in her slick, “Gonna submit to your Mand’alor?” 

She mewled, shoving her face into the ground. Pre growled, pulling her up by the hair. “What was that, jett’ika? I didn’t hear you.” 

“Yes Mand’alor!” she gasped, moaning quietly, “I submit! I submit Mand’alor! Please!” 

Vizsla chuckled, releasing her hair and slapping her ass. “Never thought I’d hear a Jedi beg for me, what a beautiful sound,” he cooed mockingly, “Now take it.” 

His pace was rough and unforgiving. Animalistic. Truly dominating and overwhelming in every sense of the words. Each cry and beg sounded so beautiful falling from her lips, and Vizsla felt like this was a dream. There was no way a Jedi would submit so easily to him. Unless, she wanted someone to submit to, why she came all the way out to this small planet in Mandalore space. Mandalorians were not just good warriors, but good lovers too. The Jedi were emotionless pillars throughout the galaxy, no wonder she came to the mando’ade to please her. 

The Jedi wasn’t the only one making noise, though. Pre grunted and groaned at the sensation of her tight walls squeezing his shaft. “Osik, do all you jetti feel this good?” he grunted, gripping her hips tight enough to leave lasting bruises. She won’t be forgetting this so easily, if he chooses to let her live.

She mewled wordlessly, clawing at the ground as much as the handcuffs would allow her. She arched into him, begging for more. He wouldn’t press her for an answer. He had the feeling no other Jedi felt like her.

He whispered her name when he released, filling her with him. He despised how intamite it sounded.

“Mand’alor!” she cried out, her walls gripping him as hard as beskar as she soaked him in her own release. 

They panted in unison as they came down from their respective highs, just staring at one another. 

“Why are you here, really?” Pre asked, his voice mostly regained. 

She sighed breathily, looking away from him.

“Trying to find my past,” she whispered. 

“What does that mean?” Pre pushed further, taking her face in his hand to make her look at him. 

“Jedi don’t make other Jedi, Vizsla,” she explained slowly, “They, like Mandalorians, bring foundlings into their fold,” she sighed, “except, they don’t just rescue foundlings like Mandalorians do, they actively take them from their homes at a young age to bring them in.” 

Pre sort of knew that, he supposed. One more reason to despise the jettise; they steal children from their families. 

“For the longest time, I only knew my name,” she whispered brokenly, and Pre resisted the unusual urge to comfort her, “I didn’t know my parents, where I was from. I was found when I was four months old and brought to the temple. The only thing I had of my birth family was this necklace,” she shifted her hands uncomfortibly to reach her robe pocket.

Pre’s eye widened, the sigil of House Ordo and a sigil of a Rancor dangling from the chord. 

“You’re... Mandalorian?” He was practically speachless. 

“I found my file in the Jedi Archives,” she continued, “I learned that this is where I’m from.” 

“I learned this as a padawan, long before the Clone Wars began. I started teaching myself Mando’a, and learning the ways of the Mandalore, in hopes that I would be sent into Mandalorian Space on some mission and find my birth family.” She sighed, “That mission never came though, and I have been actively discouraged by my former Master from finding my true heritage.”

She looked Pre in the eyes again, “I don’t care what you do to me now, Pre Vizsla of House Vizsla. Kill me, enslave me, I don’t care. At least I will die on my home planet.” She looked upon the Death Watch leader with defiance, unafraid of what could happen next. 

“You have guts,” Vizsla replied after a long moment of silence, repeating her name as she did his, “You will not die by the hands of Death Watch, as long as you stay out of our way.” 

The Jedi simply nodded, before tilting her head. “Now tell me everything you know about our people, Mand’alor,” she smiled kindly, and an odd feeling errupted in Vizsla’s chest, “I have a feeling the sources in the Jedi Archives speaking of the Mando’ade were... quite biased.” 

Pre huffed at that. “See jett’ika, we are not the only ones to hold on to Ancient Vendettas.”


End file.
